


Everything I Wanted To Make Mine

by sansalannistark



Series: For the North [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All that stuff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansalannistark/pseuds/sansalannistark
Summary: Jaime's spent years burying his feelings, but he's still not any better at itTitle from a poem by Amanda Torroni





	Everything I Wanted To Make Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one shot set after 'For you, my queen'. All fluff but a teeny bit of drama...
> 
> I always 'preciate reviews, if you fancy making this fic writer very happy :)

He doesn’t know quite what to say. Though she says nothing, hiding her pain under hasty assurances, the tears in her eyes are more than apparent to Jaime. He feels he should talk to her, try and comfort his queen, but he fears that should he find himself much closer to Sansa Stark then it would be disastrous for the both of them. He brother is not blind to Jaime’s feelings for her and Jaime knows in some part of him that Sansa feels the same, though mayhap she does not love her Lord Commander much as he loves her. As it is, Jaime will not risk Sansa’s position or safety for her love and so he remains silent and lets her slip into her chambers to lick at her wounds. He takes up position outside, swallowing the discomfort at leaving her alone.

It is not but five minutes before he hears the crash. Sansa has been unnaturally silent and it unnerves him, for if she were sobbing he might have some bitter comfort that she is there and that he might go and console her. The shattering sound the now comes from within is oddly reminiscent of his own heart every time he stares at her dangerous blue eyes, or loses himself in her presence.

“Sansa...?” he calls, his fingers curling and fidgeting out of anxiety. He hears a low wolfish scream and then a disconnected sob and he shoves through the door. Sansa is slumped on her knees on the floor, her fists lying limply against the stone. Without a word he comes to kneel in front of her.

“Sansa, whatever _she_ says, please don’t think it is over. I will not stop fighting for you. I swear it.” Jaime reaches for her hand, whereupon she allows his fingers to slip through hers. Sansa raises her head slowly.

_Don’t say it, you fool._ “I... will not leave your side, not as long-“ He breaks off then, because he suddenly feels the blood upon his palm and his eyes widen as he takes in the gashes on her hand. “Seven hells! Sansa... what happened?”

“I got a little angry...” she whispers sheepishly, motioning to the shards of her goblet. Sansa wraps her bloodied hand round his wrist, his good wrist. “Thank you. You have no idea much your loyalty, your friendship... how much it means to me, Jaime.”

“Anything for my lady,” he jibes. He is all too aware of the look on Sansa’s face and the softness lingering in her eyes and Jaime is suddenly uncomfortable.

“Jaime... I...” She begins but he cannot bear himself to let her say what he is all too sure she will say, so he silences her pretty little lips by tugging her up by the arm and sitting her on the chair.

“Better get that cut sorted. I’ll call for the Tarly lad.” As he cannot bear her to speak, neither can Jaime bear to look into her eyes and so he focuses on ripping strips of material from the shirt under his armour and deftly bandages Sansa’s hand.

“Don’t call for Sam,” she murmurs. He hesitates, but continues to tie the linen up.  If he can try and think about something else then he doesn’t have to-

“You’re here,” Sansa adds. “I don’t need Sam. I need you.” Jaime knows then that he is utterly fucked. With no excuse, he looks up at her, unwilling but unable to leave. Jaime feels frozen to the spot and wonder if this is commonplace in the North, or simply the effect of the enchanting vixen who sits in front of him. He has his answer when she stands and presses her injured hand to his cheek. “I love you, Jaime. Please, don’t leave.”

Jaime sighs and leans slightly into her touch but the last of his common sense prevails. “Sansa... we can’t do this.” Gently, he pushes her hand away, trying desperately to ignore the hurt in her eyes.

“What? Am I so ruined that not even the Kingslayer wants me?” her tone is icy now and she staggers away from him, anger marring her features. Jaime feels his stomach drop, feels a surge of regret and guilt drown his annoyance that _Sansa,_ of all people, has just called him Kingslayer.

“Sansa, you know that is not what I meant.”

“What other reason could you possibly have for rejecting me then? I thought you were the one person I could trust, Jaime!”

_You can trust me._ “Sansa, surely you can see that Daenerys sees you as a threat. If you were to take me for your lover - the man who killed her father - she would kill us both. I could not live with myself if my selfishness put you at harm.”

“And what of _my_ selfishness?” Sansa whispers, sliding her hand along his arm. Next he knows, Sansa Stark has her lips on his and she’s kissing him with an unrivalled tenderness, her hand clenching upon his upper arm. Jaime is unresponsive in his shock but then he feels Sansa pressing harder against him and he snaps and suddenly he’s kissing her back in fervour. On and on it goes as he rests the golden hand on her waist and pushes the good one through her red locks.  When they eventually break apart they are both breathless and then they’re back, joined again and Jaime finds himself becoming increasingly inebriated on the taste of Sansa’s sweet mouth. Before he loses all self control, he eases himself away with a light kiss against her neck.

“Sansa...”

“I don’t care, Jaime. Daenerys, Jon, the Northern Lords... they can rot for all I care. You’re the only one who’s given a damn about me, the only one...”

“Gods, I love you, Sansa.”

“Good,” she smirks. “Now I can move on with my life without waiting for you to say something and staring at me like some abandoned wolf cub.”

Jaime splutters. “Abandoned wolf cub? Really, Sansa?”

Sansa smiles and runs a hand over his hair. “My sweet lion.”

“Better, I suppose.”

Sansa harrumphs. “May I remind you I am your queen, Ser Jaime, and I might choose to call you whatever I please.”

“Whatever my lady commands,” he teases, unsurprised to feel her deliver a joking punch to his arm.

“Stop messing around, Jaime! I have a kingdom to rule!”

Jaime tugs her closer, wrapping both arms now firmly round her slim waist and capturing her with his lips again, imminently pleased when Sansa responds eagerly.

“I really do have to speak with Lord Manderly now.”

“Fuck Lord Manderly.”

“Jaime!”

Eventually she manages to disentangle herself and escape his wicked clutches. With a carefree smile at her Lord Commander, Sansa leaves the room. She does not notice the figure that stands at the end of the hall, observing Sansa’s flushed cheeks and the beaming smile upon her lips. It is only when the Queen in the North is gone that the flickering firelight illuminates the silver braided hair of the dragon queen as she observes the Kingslayer leave Lady Sansa’s chambers with a grim snarl on her lips.


End file.
